Yarah’s poetry
Literary Lieutenant
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I don’t write with the pen ink instead I write with the blood of my heart that’s spilled everywhere between the lines

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Sometimes we are forced to fake our happiness so no one can question our sadness

I was a dead soul inside a living body

just like the flowers my petals are falling down slowly in order to plant someone's else field even when i know the soil is full of thorns softly my petals fell off with confidnece to fill someone's missing pieces not realising | could die the moment I fall in the ground.


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